


Meet the team

by nyargles



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hazing, M/M, Science Babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyargles/pseuds/nyargles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Natasha pay a visit to Phil's new team and thoroughly vet them.</p><p>Aka</p><p>The One Where Phil Didn't Leave Everyone Thinking He Was Dead And There Is No Angst Between Him and Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet the team

**Author's Note:**

> Idek. POVs jump all over the place, sorry. @__@
> 
> ([Come drop by!](http://defractum.tumblr.com))

"Is this the new me?"

Ward twitches, because his acting is only decent when he's on undercover missions, and his eyes follow the man circling him like a shark.

"Barton," said Coulson, and Ward is fairly sure that it's meant to be a reprimand, but it sounds amused more than anything. 

Specialist Agent Barton – Hawkeye, now an Avenger – huffs, and squints at him. Ward pretends he can't feel the heat of that intense stare, and takes a sip of his coffee. The coffee maker on the plane is pretty good too, but it's too early in the morning to wrestle turbulence for his caffeine. "I bet he's not nearly as limber as me, sir," says Barton with a leer, and Ward spits his coffee straight back out. 

Coulson hands him a box of tissues from – seriously, no, where did he just pull that box of tissues from? – and says again, " _Barton_."

"What are your range scores?" asks Barton, settling into a truly disturbing spread-kneed crouch on the chair next to Ward, watching him mop up the coffee.

Ward expects Coulson to tell Barton to get in line, but he's just making himself more coffee. There's a silence for a moment as Ward waits awkwardly for Coulson to tell him what to do and Coulson doesn't seem to realise that he's supposed to. Coulson finally looks up from the coffee pot when the silence stretches to just that side of uncomfortable, and gives him an incredulous look before tipping his head at Barton. That's a 'He asked you a question; where are your manners?' look if he ever saw one.

"Er, 100 at 50 yards, 94 at 100 yards, 87 on moving targets." His range scores are great, so Ward lets himself sound a little pleased. 

Barton just makes a non-commital hum at the back of his throat. "Combat?"

"Top grades." He's started to get a little annoyed now. Barton isn't his superior – they're both a Level Seven.

"Espionage?"

Ward scowls at him. "Highest since Romanov," he snaps, recalling the quote from memory as he lobs the sodden tissue at the trash can. It goes in.

Barton just laughs at that one. "Hear that, Nat? _Highest since Romanov_."

Ward turns to ask him what on earth that's supposed to mean, and lets out a shriek (a manly, manly shriek) that echoes around the very large, mostly empty aircraft hangar because the Black Widow herself is now standing behind Barton. "What – _where_ ," he starts before shutting up under the two amused looks from Coulson and Barton, and the impassive one from Romanov herself. He clears his throat. Gives himself a bit of time to breathe, think it over. Quickly thinks about all the possibilities, and gives it his best guess. "My apologies, Agent Romanov. I was unaware that you were in the ceiling rafters."

Romanov prowls towards him and there is a brief terrifying moment where Ward thinks that she might eat him, and then she stalks straight past him to the kitchenette and steals the muffin from Coulson's hand. "Not _that_ good then," she mutters, and Ward goes completely red. God, what is it with these people. They make him feel like he's a rookie agent again, instead of specialists operating at the same level as him.

"You're dismissed now," she says, delicately peeling the muffin wrapper.

Ward bristles. "You're not my handler," he says, hand clenching around his remaining coffee. Barton gives him a wide-eyed look and Ward doesn't even have to know him to decipher it, because the moment the words left his mouth he was already feeling that absolute horror of having argued with the Black Widow.

"No," she says calmly, "but those two want to have sex now, and you probably don't want to stay." 

"Nnnnrrgh," says Ward as his brain melts and he turns to stare at Coulson and Barton. 

Barton is still crouching on the chair and gives him a wide, sharky grin. Coulson shrugs, and gives a little smile. "We do quite want to have sex now," he affirms.

"Nnnrgh," says Ward again, and turns back to Romanov for help but she's already gone – he even checks the ceiling rafters in despair and she's definitely not there and okay, he might be second best but first is apparently a long way up. He picks up his coffee cup and shakily stands up. He tries to pull the tattered shreds of his dignity around him and it doesn't really work, not when Barton is smirking at him like that. "I just remembered – some paperwork. I'm just going to – go." He flees onto the plane.

-

"This is like being back at the tower," says Clint as Phil takes him into the jet and through to the lab area. Fitz and Simmons are in opposite halves of the room, and it's obvious from one look that they have literally divided the lab space into two. Fitz's half is covered in wiring and metal component with gutted electronic eyeballs rolling all over the place as he runs tests on them and they twitch. 

Simmons is elbow deep in some green slime – although with long gloves on because that would be a health risk otherwise – and her half of the lab looks more like a mortuary with all the bits of Chitauri she was allowed to bring on board in various pickled jars. Despite the fact that they are working on completely different things, FitzSimmons are babbling away at each other. It does remind Phil a bit of Stark and Banner.

"Hey, did the Chitauri have any long range weapons you've taken a look at?" asks Clint, sidling up behind Fitz. 

"Um." Fitz drops the eyeball he's working on (it sprouts little spider legs and scuttles away under the table) and stares at Clint's arms. Phil had forgotten, a bit, what effect sleeveless-Clint had on people the first few times.

"Ooooh," says Simmons from her half, looking at him appreciatively. Clint grins at her, and flexes. 

"Not really similar to what you use though," says Fitz when he stops ogling, "Not my area of expertise. Don't you have someone assigned to you for that?"

"Yeah, and his name is Tony Stark." Clint makes a face, because wrangling weaponry out of impressionable baby scientists is easier than admitting to Tony Stark that some of his work is a little unappreciated. Clint had almost blown himself up the first time an arrow had tried to talk to him about trajectory and it had definitely blown his cover.

The mention of Tony has Fitz's eyes lighting up though. "Tony Stark himself designs your weapons?" asks Fitz. "What I wouldn't give to have access to Tony Stark's lab for a day." 

"Oh, come on, we used to work out of the corner of the bio lab three years ago. You're getting spoiled and complacent now," says Simmons, wagging a green, slimy finger at him.

"Stark has a whole floor of labs," says Clint, waving his arms to indicate how much larger than this lab it would be. "Come swing by the next time you have down time and I'll take you up."

Fitz looks like he might have an orgasm right there.

"Of course, he shares them with Bruce Banner and Jane Foster, but still," says Clint. 

It's Simmons' turn to squeak excitedly. "Do you think Dr Banner will let me swab his mouth? I mean, ideally a blood sample or skin sample but I know that can get into dangerous ground given the Super Soldier implications so a swab would be fine. Or what about if Dr Foster has any Asgardian samples? Plant life, or, or or..." 

"I wouldn't talk about him that way, but yeah, sure," says Clint with a grin but instead of being embarrassed, Simmons looks ecstatic and starts muttering about maybe stealing a hank of Thor's hair for examination. It's understandable – Clint would like to know the secrets of that hair too. 

When they walk back out, Phil levels him a look. "I can't believe you think letting FitzSimmons near Banner and Stark is a good idea."

Clint frowns. "What? I'm sure they'll get on fine."

"That's not what I mean," says Phil despairingly, "Who do you think will end up having to supervise them?"

-

"Is that who I think it is?" asks Clint as they move up to the cockpit. He goes to hop into the co-pilot's seat, but Natasha's beaten it to him, her feet resting up on the dashboard.

"I'm just the pilot," says Melinda dryly.

" _Just the pilot_ ," Clint says in disbelief.

"Black belts," says Natasha, holding up her card. She and Melinda are playing S.H.I.E.L.D. Top Trumps.

"One," says Melinda, making a face as she flips her card to reveal Sitwell. "You?"

"Eight," says Natasha. Her card turns out to be Melinda May. They exchange grins.

-

"So you're the hacker," says Clint, looking down at Skye.

"Oh my god, you're Hawkeye," says Skye, reaching out and squeezing Clint's biceps. "Sorry. I've wanted to do that for a while."

Phil can tell that Clint likes her immediately. Not because she admires his arms (let's face it; everyone admires his arms) but because she has balls. She's not an Agent, she's not trained, she doesn't even know how to defend herself. She is putting herself in very real danger by joining his team, and Clint likes that she's doing it anyway.

"How's your fieldwork coming along?" asks Clint.

Skye shrugs. "Ward's been giving me a few self-defence lessons so far, but he's a crap teacher. May's awesome though. She can teach me something before I've even realised she's doing it."

"You ever used that?" Clint points at the gun at her side, there because of protocol more than anything else right now.

"Not good enough at it yet," says Skye, making a face.

Clint shoves his hands into his pockets thoughtfully. "You remind me of someone I know." He reaches into the duffel bag slung across his shoulders, and pulls something out. "Here, try this." He hands her a tazer.

Skye looks at it skeptically.

"My friend took out Thor with one of these," he says, and Skye's eyes open reverently, taking the offering. "I'll introduce you some day."

–

"Well?" asks Phil, sinking into his office chair. It's ergonomic and has extra soft padding at the back, right where a hypothetical magic spear might have left scars.

"Well, they're not _us_ ," says Natasha, emerging from his tiny en-suite bathroom. Her hair has changed colour again; she probably has a mission to get to straight after this. She pads up to Phil and presses a kiss to his temple. "I'm impressed you managed to get Melinda though."

"She's just the pilot," Phil repeats. Natasha actually snorts at him.

"I like the science babies," says Clint, flopping over onto the floor and leaning his head against Phil's knee. "They look like they're actually enthusiastic about doing things. And Skye."

"If she and Darcy break New York, I'm holding you responsible," grumbles Phil but he's petting Clint's hair so it doesn't have any real effect.

"It'll be awesome," says Clint. "I can foresee it already. Boobs and snarking and strip clubs and booze and hacked security cams and a _whole trail_ of unconscious men." He sounds rather more excited about that than he should.

"I'm going to be in Serbia for two weeks," says Natasha as a complete non-sequitur. "If you are dead again by the time I get back, I will eviscerate them all."

"Duly noted," Phil smiles at her, and accepts the feelings behind her words for what they are. She sails out of the office, grabs her parachute pack and heads off.

"Where are we headed?" asks Clint, pulling himself up and straddling Phil's lap. 

"New Orleans. We've got a while until we get there," Phil grins, tugging him in for a kiss. Clint eases Phil's jacket down past his shoulders, draping it over the back of his chair, and slips his tie off in one smooth motion. (Clint still can't tie a tie to save his life, but he does have significantly more experience taking them off.)

There's a knock on the door. 

"No," says Phil calmly, as though he's not shamelessly groping Clint's ass, as though Clint hasn't flicked his buttons undone and is kissing down his neck.

"Sorry, Agent Coulson, I just need –" Ward's voice filters through the door and a wicked grin from Clint is all the warning that Phil gets.

"Oh my _gooooood_ ," Clint moans obscenely.

"Oh. _Oh_!" There's the sound of Ward walking very swiftly away and Clint muffles his snickers in Phil's chest.

Phil swats his ass. "Aren't you going to carry on?"


End file.
